FAKE

prologue

He is dead.

He is dead.

He is dead.

So why is he standing in front of me with that smirk I had always hated?

He died.

He died.

He died.

So why is he walking towards me?

He was dead.

He was dead.

He was dead.

But now I don't believe that.

"Courtney." He murmurs.

"Ross."

"Hi."

"You're alive?"

"Surprise. Did you miss me?"

"You're alive."

He is dead.

He is dead.

He is dead.

...

No he's not.

***

Ross Lynch committed suicide two years ago when he jumped off a bridge.

We never found a body.

But now, the body is standing in front of me, looking cocky as ever and proud of himself.

All I can ask is:

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why, Ross? You don't just fake your death and leave behind your family, your friends, your fans, me!" I raise my voice.

"I had to, Courtney."

"You could've told me! You should have!"

"That would have resulted in you hiding away with me." He replies calmly.

Ross was never easily angered.

That only fanned the flames.

I need to yell at him. I need to scream. But he won't scream back. I could never get that emotion out of him. Which I hated, because I wanted him to feel something because of me.

Ross runs a hand through his shaggy, unkempt hair.

"Why would you go and pull a stunt like that?" I ask, pinching my arm to keep the storm brewing inside myself at bay.

"Because. I might tell you later. I might not."

The other part of him that I hate.

The mystery he thrives upon that drove people insane.

Not telling people was his way of pulling them in. But as soon as he had them, boom. They never meant a thing to him.

I had somehow believed I was different.

The tidal wave crashes over me as I remember when I had realized I was being dragged along in his current.

"Who is she, Ross? Who?"

"Courtney Eaton, listen to me. I love you and only you."

Now?

Now, I don't trust him, and I don't want him here.

"I am not a chess piece, Mr. Lynch. If you believe you can play me in your games you've got another thing coming." I snap at him.

Ross chuckles. "Alright, Ms. Eaton. I just needed a favor."

"And that would be?"

"Can I crash here for a few nights?"

I glare at him before stepping out of the doorway of my small house.

"I owe you." He says as he enters.

"You do." I know I shouldn't have done that, but I still have a soft spot for the guy. After all, we used to be friends.

He is not dead.

He is not dead.

He is not dead.

...

He should be.

-----

As you can probably tell, this story will be told from Courtney's point of view.
Because Rourtney, guys.